


and they fell

by AylaPascal



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-13 19:11:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4533816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AylaPascal/pseuds/AylaPascal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They thought of everything. Even a strike system.</p><p>Death Eater. One strike.</p><p>Wizard. Three strikes.</p><p>Five strikes, and you were taken away to be re-educated in one of the many camps scattered around Britain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and they fell

They thought of everything. Even a strike system.   
  
_Death Eater_. One strike.   
  
_Wizard_. Three strikes.   
  
Five strikes, and you were taken away to be re-educated in one of the many camps scattered around Britain.   
  
Re-education is their politically correct way of saying torture. How to Turn a Wizard into a Good Muggle 101. There are no documented cases of failure. "100% success," boast the motionless posters stuck all over Diagon Alley. "Guaranteed."   
  
He suspects that this means the failures are simply disposed of.   
  
  
There are cases of wizard disappearances. These earn a mention on the Muggle news between the evening financial report and the weather report.   
  
(. . . _and another six wizards disappeared today just outside Wiltshire Country._ )   
  
Implied: _They are forming subversive groups._  
  
(. . . _a group of witches who were protesting outside Parliament House mysteriously vanished._ )   
  
Implied: _They must be using their powers._   
  
  
Police patrol the streets wearing badges that read Wizard Protection Services.   
  
He learns quickly that this designation only means they don't hit as hard as the vigilantes. There are still bruises around his jaw from when the Wizard Sign was stamped onto his face. It hurt, but not as much as the mark on his left forearm. Never as much as that mark. That particular mark isn't part of him. It _is_ him.   
  
  
Shopkeepers sneer as he walks past their shops, and he can hear their whispers.   
  
( _Dirty wizard_ )   
  
( _Stain on our society_ )   
  
( _Unnatural_ )   
  
( _Freak_ )   
  
_This is what the Mudbloods must feel_ , he thinks.   
  
  
He passes other wizards with the sign on their left cheeks.   
  
Always the left side. The side of evil. The sinister side. Tom Riddle was left-handed and evil. He was a wizard. Therefore, wizards are evil. A perfect twist of logic.   
  
Nobody catches his eye. There is always the chance that he may not be one of them but rather an undercover WPS agent. He doesn't catch anybody's eye either. Most people he doesn't recognise, and they pass by in a blur of faces. Sometimes, though, he sees a former student. A former classmate. A former colleague. Even a former Death Eater. All walk quickly past him, carrying briefcases, going about their _normal Muggle lives_ and hoping not to disappear.   
  
He does the same.   
  
  
Sometimes, he wonders what happened. What happened to their dreams of a perfect world, left shattered in the dust after the Muggle Wars.   
  
And always his thoughts turn to his betrayal. What if he hadn't betrayed the Dark Lord? He suspects that that might have made the difference in the war. Then again, maybe not. Lucius had never faltered in his beliefs, and he was a better wizard. ( _But where was Lucius now?_ ) Perhaps he was just putting too much emphasis on his (few) years of spying. The few years spent climbing (up) and slipping (down) into the abyss.   
  
Or maybe they had just had too much faith. Too much faith in an old man and a young boy both who ultimately could do nothing against the Muggles.   
  
Harry Potter. Even the mouthed words taste like ashes. He doesn't know what happened to him. Does it matter? They're all the same now. Branded with the same mark. To be scorned until some far less liberal government decides to throw them all into re-education camps.   
  
  
He knows that he will slip up some day. Some day, his gaze will linger too long on another wizard and "subversive element" will ring in the nearest WPS agent's mind. Some day, he will forget and pull out his wand. He doesn't know why they didn't just snap all the wands. Surely it would have been kinder? Instead of this teetering uncertainty and _want_ , he could just be a Squib. But they were allowed to keep their wands, all in the name of civil liberties.   
  
He hates those two words the most.   
  
_Civil liberties._  
  
Beautifully ironic.   
  
Bitterly ironic.   
  
  
And one day it happens - he slips up - and he's glad.   
  
  
He's thrown into a cell with other wizards: purebloods, half-bloods and Mudbloods. There is no difference between them now. The sign outside reads _Wizard Protection Services: Re-educating Wizards Since 2004._  
  
His cellmates aren't sure why he laughs at this.   
  
He isn't sure either.   
  
They don't talk much. Just mundane things.   
  
( _When did you last have pumpkin juice?_ )   
  
( _Did you support the Chudley Cannons?_ )   
  
( _Which side of the Voldemort Wars were you on?_ )   
  
As if any of that matters any more. But he still answers.   
  
( _At Hogwarts_ )   
  
( _No_ )   
  
( _Both_ )   
  
His cell-mates look at him strangely at his final answer, and he realises that he shouldn't have said that. But then he sees a gleam of understanding in one of their faces.   
  
"Snape?"   
  
He nods. "And you are?"   
  
The person laughs bitterly. "You don't recognise me?"   
  
Snape carefully looks the man over. Overly thin limbs, a slightly curved back (lack of calcium, he notes), fine downy hairs over his arms and face. Only the eyes seem familiar. "Harry Potter."   
  
Potter gives a dry laugh. Or least he thinks it may have been a laugh. "Changed, haven't I?"   
  
"Haven't we all?"   
  
Snape gives a start and stares at the other wizard occupying their tiny cell.   
  
The wizard gives him a humourless smile. "My old friend, Severus."   
  
"Lucius," Snape says flatly.   
  
"Correct."   
  
  
Fate hates him. Snape is sure of that. Why otherwise would the Muggles place him in a cell with two of his least favourite people?   
  
He sinks down slowly and places his arms around his knees. He, too, seems to have shrunk. Wrapping his arms entirely around himself seems too easy.   
  
And he waits to see what the Muggles will do.   
  
  
As Fate would have it, he doesn't have to wait long.   
  
  
"Our morning exercises," Potter informs him the next morning. There is a note that Snape can't pick out in his voice. He's sure that it shouldn't be in there. It had never been there before. Not even after Black's death. Not even after Potter had killed his first man. Not even after Potter had dispatched of Voldemort.   
  
Snape isn't sure he understands the words. "Exercises?"   
  
Lucius looks at him with what seems like pity. It is curiously misplaced in the harsh, carved features. "You'll see."   
  
  
The Muggle guards walk into the cell. Snape later learns that they come at this hour every morning. Not that he ever learns what the hour is. But if he counts carefully, he realises that it is almost always half an hour after sunrise in the summer.   
  
Immediately Harry and Lucius stand up, arms to their sides, slack, eyes cast downwards. Snape doesn't understand. "Why?" he begins to whisper, and a guard walks up to him.   
  
"We have a new addition." The voice is smooth. Almost friendly.   
  
Snape ventures a glance into the guard's eyes but looks away. They are too familiar.   
  
"Perhaps our current students could show the new student what to do?" There is an eagerness in the guard's voice that scares Snape.   
  
Snape watches as Potter and Lucius move up to flank him. "What are you doing?"   
  
Potter gives him a pitying look. He reaches a hand out and begins to undo the buttons on Snape's shirt.   
  
"What in the name of M... God are you doing?" Snape immediately jumps backwards, but there is nowhere to go. He looks frantically around, but there are only the leering faces of the guards and the looks of pity and sympathy from his fellow students.   
  
"Relax," Lucius says. "It'll make it easier."   
  
Snape glares at him.   
  
Lucius shrugs and moves in front of Potter. He begins to undo Snape's trousers.   
  
"Why are you doing this?" Snape demands. His gaze flickers to the Muggle guards. "What can they possibly do that is worse than . . ." he gestures helplessly, "this!"   
  
To his surprise, it is Potter who answers. "It isn't that bad," he mutters quietly. "It's entertainment for them, but at least we can be relatively _gentle_." He lifts up his shirt, and Snape is horrified to see the network of scars, the patterned network of scars, trailing their way across his stomach. "Far better than this."   
  
Lucius pushes Snape's trousers and underwear down at the same time.   
  
Snape watches with horrified fascination as his old friend's mouth closes over his cock. It twitches in reaction, and to his disgust, he feels himself getting aroused. Lucius's mouth is surprisingly cold, and his tongue flickers up and down.   
  
He doesn't notice Potter moving around him until he feels a probing between his arse cheeks. He jumps, and he hears the raucous laughter of the guards.   
  
"We have a twitchy one."   
  
"Relax," Potter murmurs in his ear.   
  
But he _can't_.   
  
A searing pain rips through him as he feels Potter thrust. They are slow, gentle thrusts, but he feels violated and torn apart. Opening his eyes an inch, he realises that one of the guards is wanking off.   
  
Bile rises in his throat, and he swallows with effort.   
  
Carefully, Potter withdraws, and he feels like he's been ripped apart at the seams. Lucius stands up and faces the guards. There is a trickle of white semen running down his chin, but he doesn't reach up and wipe it off.   
  
One of the guards actually smiles at them. "Well done."   
  
  
  
Later, when the guards are gone, Snape watches as Lucius fastidiously wipes his lips.   
  
Potter looks at him. "I can't say I'm sorry," he whispers. "I just saved your life."   
  
And Snape can't find enough energy within himself to say thank you, so they just look at each other for a minute before Potter breaks eye contact.   
  
  
And before long, Snape finds himself getting into a routine. Three enemies sharing a cell and forced to fuck. There is a strange comfort this offers him.   
  
  
Snape wakes up one night to see Lucius and Potter entwined on the floor together. Somehow it looks so right.   
  
He closes his eyes and curls up again.   
  
Cold comfort, indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> For idroppedarice for her birthday.
> 
> Thank you Ann (Ariana Rookwood) for betaing.


End file.
